


A kept man

by LittleGreenPlasticSoldier



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Drabble, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Leather Jackets, Not Beta Read, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Possessive Behavior, Sex, Sex on a Car, Sex on the Impala, Smut, Tumblr Ask Box Fic, terrible My Blue Heaven reference, unprotected sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-28
Updated: 2016-09-28
Packaged: 2018-08-18 08:19:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8155480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleGreenPlasticSoldier/pseuds/LittleGreenPlasticSoldier
Summary: Dean wears a leather jacket that's a bit different to his usual style, and it triggers something in you.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this is just a knocked-out fic and here's how it happened...
>
>> Anonymous asked: DID YOU SEE IT? Did you see the pictures of Jensen filming spn wearing a black biker leather jacket? What! I can't cope I need all the fanfics now :(( my dean girl heart can't handle that??
> 
> For crap’s sake Nonny. A whole day.
> 
> First I thought “?? What no! I haven’t seen these pics. I shall scroll my dash. There they will be.” Nothing. No pic like this. I was thinking of a biker jacket with a gang logo on the back. No such luck.
> 
> Then later, in a moment between things, I did a search. Nothing specific appeared. I may have done a pic search on google. He wears a biker jacket a lot at the cons. It looks awesome. And hot. Always hot. But there are new ones now? Remarkable ones? And I thought “Who are you Nonny? Are you friend or foe to send me on this quest of desire? Of curiosity? Of neeed? Why did you not post them? Why not tag me? Do these pics even exist? Have I already found them? Were they there all along? _Is this a metaphor?”_
> 
> So I don’t know. I don’t know now. I’m starting to question my own existence, let alone the existence of these fics. Someone. Someone plunge your arm into the wibblywobbly silvery wall of my mind and pull me or these god forsaken pics from the void.
> 
> In the meantime, _I had to go and make my own… **sigh.**_

“What is that?”

“What?”

“That jacket?”

Dean looks up at you, there in the library, then down at himself.  He turns his arms over and spreads his hands over the panels.  “You like it?  It was a gift from that woman.  Uuuuh, Leanne.  The stoner with the surprise vamp boyfriend.”

You stand there, on the other side of the room, frowning at the sight.  He’s wearing jeans and boots and the jacket is almost done up because he’s about to head out.  It’s a biker jacket, black leather and fitted.  “She gave you her dead boyfriend’s jacket?”

“Nooo _wuh_ ,” he scoffs. “She was _about_ to give it to him.  But he bit her.”  He grins and tugs on the lower hem, your dark gaze suggesting he should unsmug himself some.

You walk over to him, trying to hide how well the jacket suits him.  It highlights his waist and hips against his shoulders, showing the difference of depth between his lower and upper chest, and the collar is short below his long neck, echoing his jawline.  It fits like a fucking glove, and just… never have you felt so _possessive_.

You gently jerk on one of the pocket zips and let your pinch hang off it. “Where are you going?” you ask quietly.  


“Just for supplies.”

“And then straight back?”

“Yyyeah, probably.  Why?”

“You don’t let anyone touch you in this, okay?” you warn him, like it’s for his own good.  Your other hand spiders at the waist band, ghosting up the panel to just below his chest.  


He furrows his brow, so cute in his innocence.  “Wwwhy? What’s wrong with it?”

You let your hands spread on his lower ribs, pulling and vice-like.  “ _Nothing_ ,” you say, pouty and dark.

His eyebrows pop and he has a better look at how you’re moving, where you hands are going.    


“But the right set of nails will shred it, right here.” You claw your fingers over the leather, where it would normally tickle if he wasn’t so distracted.  “And you can trust me when I say there will be nails _itching_ for it.”

You slide your fingers up the leather, past the angled pin tucks, and thread them into his hair up the back of his head, swift and firm and pulling his head to yours.  You don’t tiptoe or reach, just yank him into you, his full lips cushioning the fall.  He _mmph!_ s in surprise and _hmm_ s something more while you kiss him, full and consuming, stepping against you and having second thoughts about the urgency of this supply run.  


You pull on his waist, tilt yourself up into him, and slap a hold on his ass that’ll last till well beyond the freezer section of the store.  


He jumps a little, breathy smile slack against your mouth.  “Straight back,” you mumble while his lips keep kissing at you.

His breath pushes past your mouth and he grunts _hnng_ as a promise.  You kiss along his cheek, down into the collar and breathe in his skin against the new leather.  “I think… I kinda like your possessive side.” He swallows a grunt as you suck a mark onto him, just above the collar bone.  You’ve never much been into hickeys, but fucked if you’re letting him leave without one.  “Jesus.  I like you pushy.”

You loosen your hold a little, firmly brush his hair, scowling something serious:  You’re still thinking about him being unsupervised out there.  When he opens his eyes, you haven’t softened an inch, and you feel his breath skitch at the sight of you.  


He licks his lips, nodding “Straight back.”

You plant one more solid kiss on him then pat his ass to send him on his way.  “Don’t forget the pie.”  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah it got away on me. People were so lovely with their feedback I decided to put up this part. It's unbeta'd too.

“Hey you wanna come with me?”

He’s got one foot on the stairs and you don’t even think about it. “Yes. Lemme get my things.”

Sensible is still sensible, so you split up.  While Dean heads off to the little independent supermarket, you visit the newsagents for a quick stationery kick.

Somewhere between the legal notepads and your traditional scribble-with-the-new-pens, your brain says “Peas!” so you pull out your phone and call Dean.  

“Yyyello.”

“Frozen Peas.  I forgot to write it down.”

“Peas.  Got it.  I’m in that section now.” The whole store is only four aisles wide and two deep, with four checkouts at the entrance.  You’ve been going there long enough that you recognise all the faces, and a few of the names.

“The freezers? Oh, no, you gotta get outta there.”

“What? Why?”

“Coz you could melt all this stuff.” You use your best mobster drawl.

“Oh god- wait, what is that from?” he giggles.

“I dunno.  I’m almost done here, I’ll come find you-”

“(Oh hey),” he says aside.  Through the phone a woman’s voice is lilting sweetly.  He talks back, niceties and chit-chat, and you can hear the peaking tone of questions from her and amiable go-alongs from him.

“Is that Cherise?” you ask, her northern cheer familiar in your ear.  “Dean?”

“(S-sorry, ye-Sorry, I’m just gonna take this. Okay. Bye.) Yeah babe?”

“Is that Cherise?”

“Uh yeah.”

“Is she working the register?”

“I dunno,” he mumbles.  “Doesn’t she always work the register?”

“Well if she isn’t behind the register then she’s behind you.”

“Oh come on, she is not-”

“Fucking turn around and prove me wrong.”  You wait 3, maybe 4 seconds…

“Well, someone has to stack the shelves,” he hisses.

“Is there even a crate nearby?!”

“(No, I’m okay, thank you.)” He’s back fielding interference from Cherise again.

“I’m on my way.”

“You don’t need to do that! (Wha- I don’t- Um, sure, yeah, baby peas would be nice.) Y/N?  Y/N?!”

But you’re gone, off to buy your paper and marching down the street.

Your boots strike the linoleum with a satisfying knock, slowing only when you find them still amongst the frozen food.  Cherise is there, her back to you, leaning beguilingly at Dean as he politely listens to her talk about her weekend, or whatever.  He’s resisted leaning against the freezer chest, basket hanging from his fists and leaning on his thighs, and he visibly swallows as you approach.

You come up on their side and as soon as she registers your presence she blinks, pulls herself back a step, chin tucked and hands wiping down her waist and hips.  “Hey Cherise,” you say, tilting your head in a solid _How you doin’ there_ manner.

“Oh hey Y/N! I was just telling Dean about my weekend, you know? Havin’ a lil’ catch up?”  She smiles and waits for you to believe her.

“That’s great,” you blink, saccharine and knowing.  “You know, there’s no one up the front?”

“Oh shoot, really?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh gosh. Well.”  She takes a short breath and looks back at Dean, gazing at his green eyes and perfect proportions, and lets her eyes trickle down his form in his new black biker jacket, then further still over his thighs and sturdy boots.  She needs a dose that’s going to last her another week, at least.  “Hmmmokay.  Better go do that then.”  She sighs and flicks a low wave at Dean and he replies with polite eyebrows and a lopsided _Okay_.

She leaves and you swing yourself into his field of vision.  “You got everything?”

“Seriously?” he smirks.  “You hightail it down here ‘cause-a  Cherise?  She’s not-”

“No. Dean.   _You don’t know_.”

At the registers, Cherise is the only one on.  Dean places the items on the belt and you lean, watching her try to get all her ducks in a row while he does stuff, looking as hot as he ever has at 3pm.

Dean keeps looking between the two of you - a friendly smile her way, and cautious sideways flick in yours.  He’s never seen you flex this much presence around another woman while you’re not working.

She asks for the money but before Dean can get his wallet you say “I got it.”

His eyes slide over to you and you blink tightly.  “No problem,” he nods.  He collects the bags and Cherise sees the hickey on his neck while he leans.  Her eyes seems to lose focus and she quietly wraps her fingers around the bench to help hold her ground. Dean turns to you and tilts, kissing you on the cheek to deliver a quiet “Pushy.”

You tilt your head for him and let him see just how unhurried you are, then look back at Cherise, who’s far too distracted by kissing someone to realise what’s about to come.  He walks past the other check outs and through the automatic doors while you swipe your card.  Cherise’s eyes following him like a spotlight, a hand rubbing firm circles down low on her tummy.

When he’s finally out of sight, she turns back to the belt, straight into the dry, knowing glare of you.

“…Cherise.”

She inhales deeply… “I knooow, I knooow,” she confesses, melting with shame and shaking her head at herself.

“ _Cherise_ ,” you bite your lip in disappointment.  “Dude.”

“Oh Y/N.  Every time he leaves, I think _That’s the last time Cherry, come on now._  But then he walks back in and, and-” she gestures to where he was standing, “and that _jacket_ -”

“I understand, I do,” you nod deeply.  “But Cherise.  The man has a right to shop freely.”

“Yyyeah.” She looks down at the scanner, sad and horny.  “He’s just-”

“Hey I know,  I get it.”  You put her hand on your chest to share.  “You don’t think I was thirsty?  I mean, I’m only looking for God so I can thank him, you know?”

“Oh yeah I been prayin’ a lot more since he showed up.  And hey, Y/N?  Can I just say?” - she thumbs over her shoulder, little smirk like it’s a shared secret - “That is a _nice_ jacket.”

You point at her sternly. “You shut up about that jacket Cherise.”  
“No, I wouldn’t-” She wipes the air before her, eye closed as she frowns.  “You’re right, I won’t-”  
“You got me?  Last time.”  
“Okay-”  
“Forget about the jacket.”  
“You got it-”  
“Leave him be Cherise.”  
“Yes ma’am.” She nods solemnly, eyes closed, frown popping out every now and then to assure you.

“…Alright then.”

Her nodding fade while she looks around for something to say and you try to relax some.

Dean’s in the driver’s seat, watching you while he pinches the steering wheel.  You manage a small forgiving smile and start to leave.  

“He’s good though, isn’ee?” she blurts, desperate for a clue about all those hunches she’s collected, headcanons about Dean’s private life.  

Your face becomes thunderous. Back the fuck off, he’s mine, you think, from boots to bangs- but she isn’t brave enough to look at you while she says this.  “Sometimes I think the two o’you must… you know.”  She glances up at you forlornly.  Jesus, she is _parched_.  “You’d start a fire… I reckon.”

You ease up and take a breath.  “Yeah he’s… He’s certainly got some spark.  …I’ll see you next week. Take care Cherise.”

“See ya, Y/N,” she smiles and you take yourself back out to the car.

From the passenger seat you can see Cherise well enough to watch her sigh.  Someone comes to take her spot and she disappears to the back of the store.

“Hey.”  Dean’s leaning towards the middle of the seat, angling for a kiss.  

“What?” you answer and lean in to meet him for it.  “You okay?”

“Nope.”

You twitch a frown of curiosity and he answers “You kidding me? Shooing off the women, paying for my food.  You’re doin’ things to me…  You serious this jacket is all it took?”

“I told you, _you don’t know_.”

He looks a little perplexed, kind of shaking his head as he straightens and starts the car.  “Got half a mind to find a quiet spot on the way home,” he mutters.

“Pretty likely Sam’ll be waiting for us,” you say.  But you’d be doing the same if you were driving.

Fact is, there isn’t much time between town and the bunker, and you’re back before you’ve even settled on where you would park if you could.

While you’ve been thinking, though, Dean’s obviously had a good think too, and after turning off the engine he sits and looks over at you, quick and checking. He stays in his spot and you don’t go anywhere either.

After a few moments, he undoes his seatbelt and grabs the back of the seat to slide towards you.

“One tick,” you say, holding up a finger at him.

He twitches, and waits, waiting, waiting for some sign of whatever the hell you’re stopping him for.

“Lil’ longer,” you promise, because if there is going to be an interruption-

“Guys!” Sam bursts into the garage.

You open your door saying “Yeah Sam.”

“Can you be ready in an hour or two?  We’ve got a witch thing near Wichita, lol. I need some time to collect all the gear.”

“No problem,” you say, Dean coming around the car to meet you.  “Right?”

“Yeah sure, I’ll just get Baby ready,” he says.

“Where’d you get that?” Sam asks, pointing at the jacket.

“Uuuuh, Y/N gave it to me,” he lies.

“Huh,” Sam turns and heads back into the bunker.  “You should wear it next time you’re bein’ bait.”

With Sam gone, you get your hands low on Dean’s chest and start pushing him backwards, towards the front of the car, while he’s still thrown by Sam’s words.  “I don’t know what he means by that,” he grumbles.

“I do.”

“What’re you doin’?”

“Bein’ pushy.”  You’ve turned him at the front of the car, so his legs are backed up to the grill.  You grab the front of his jacket, high over the zip, tilting him down for a kiss, then push on his hip so he sits on the hood.

“Yes you are.”  His eyes light up at you toeing off your boots and shucking off your jeans and he wastes no time reaching for your panties while you kiss him some more.  He drags his fingertips up and down the soft fabric, nudging deeper where it’s wet, and you pull on his head with both hands, sighing into his mouth and letting him hold your hip while he does his magic.

The leather of the jacket creaks gently as he reaches and moves, but you’ve no interest in taking it off, or anything else of his for that matter.  The belt buckle slaps and tinkles under your deft fingers, the buttons pop open, and in no time you’ve got your hands in his pants, pushing the jeans aside and the cotton down.

Dean tucks his fingers behind your fabric too, getting himself wet and making you gasp and hum.  It’s so sweet, some kind of relief from the afternoon - hours of his form being so nicely packaged, seeing him wanted by others, sitting next to him looking so ridiculously hot - so it takes a while for you to refocus and get hold of his wrist to stop him.

You tap his hip for him to lift up a bit, and he leans on one hand so you can get his jeans down enough.  You only move them down a few inches and let the fabric nudge under his balls, the rise of his butt cheeks peeking over the waistband.  The crescent of his hip bone is pale and sweet and the tufty brown curls make you hungry.

Dean lets you push him back, his arms falling wide as he lays on the hood and breathlessly watches you lean over to push your panties off.  

Quick and gentle, you collect his cock and slide it into your mouth, laving a good coat of spit over the length.  

“ _Goh_ -Jesus, Y/N.”  His head thuds back onto the metal and he gets his feet settled, wide and almost-flat on the concrete.

Carefully you step onto the fender and climb over him, using your shins to take your weight evenly, then lead his hardness high enough to dip into you an inch or so.  Unzipping the jacket, you sit yourself on his hips, taking him in with a down-up-down, and you push your palms up his chest.  His mouth drops open with an _Oh! Jesus,_ and he squeezes your thighs with broad hands.  Your voice bounces off the walls, high and breathy, because it hurts, the shove, but you like it.  It satisfies your meanness and matches your mood.  You want.  This man.  Your man.  Fucked.

Fabric and curls press against your butt and you look at the lines of the jacket collar setting off the contours of his throat and jaw, black on black, working muscles and bitten lips.  “Uh, fuck me baby,” he grunts.  “You got me so hard already.”

You lean up, feeling his skin drag inside you, pulling slick and slide with him, and you thump back down, wetting the curls and rocking the car.

“Ooh, Godthatfeelsgood.”  You slide an open hand up his body, right up his neck and over his ear as you lean down for kiss, panting and tongue-heavy.

He pushes up into you, but it’s lacking the depth you need because his legs don’t quite have the reach.  He wedges his heel onto the fender and tries again.

“You stay right there babe.  Let me,” you kiss and pull your shirt off to ease the heat.  “You’re a kept man, you know.”

“I so am,” he smirks, getting a good look at your lace-covered bust and digging his fingertips into the fat of your hips.

“Oh yeah.  All mine.”  You take a handful of his t-shirt, twisting it over your fist and pulling it taut so you can lever yourself and balance.  You catch a whispered _Fuck, Y/N_ below but really you’re consumed with the feel and sight of him.  He’s gorgeous like this, his hair kicked sideways from your hands, that hickey peeking out, firm muscles making his t-shirt ripple with a satisfying symmetry, the black leather snug on his upper arms and the shine of the car against his light stubble and rough textures.

Faster you rock down onto him and soon you’re ignoring the squeak of the suspension, listening only to his breathing and grunting, his hips trying to match you as you move up and down.  You reach down between your legs and circle the nerves, leaning your fabric-wrapped fist on his chest. Dean grabs your working hand, making your fingers rub over yourself and you cry out at the pleasure, feeling your pussy flare hot, that perfect pitch of it, and he groans sharp and surprised, letting your orgasm start his.  A blushing heat creeps up his neck and he frowns hard, lips fat and panting, his fingers snatching painfully, and instinctively gives his hips to you while you fuck out what you’ve got left.

His chest heaves and he peers at you above him while you lean back on his thighs.  His fingers creep up your belly, brushing over what he can reach, pulling you down.  Instead you sit up and hook your hand under his arm to help him up.  He kisses over your chest, lips slack and breath hot, humming and groaning and sliding his hands over your radiant, bare skin while you sit near naked on his cock.  “I really like bein’ yours,” he huffs.

“Good.” You hug and kiss his head, tilting it back so you can look him in the eye and kiss him properly.  “‘Cause, in case you can’t tell, I’m not giving you up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And, just in case you forgot, somehow, I have to reference this picture because although _I know_ you know which pic I’m referencing, it would be a crime to not provide it here. (God I hope the link still works.)  
>  Does it matter that there’s no jacket? _**No.**_
> 
> Edit: Also, I know this isn't Jensen, nor Baby, but there was some speculation about that when it surfaced. Hence my mental hook on that shot. Does not diminish it's effect on me one bit. _I am Cherise._


End file.
